


Topaz

by wheel_pen



Series: Loose Gems [22]
Category: Original Work, Velvet Goldmine
Genre: M/M, Slavery, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-03-29 20:36:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3909772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young man being punished in the village stocks is caught in an attack and enslaved. Updated with more text.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The bad words are censored; that’s just how I do things.  
> Inherent in slavery and other forms of subjugation are dubious consent, unhealthy relationships, and violence.  
> I hope you enjoy this original work, which was inspired by many different stories.  
>   
> Visual reference:  
> Topaz--Christian Bale  
> the Duke--Ewan McGregor

He couldn't believe it had come to this. He had always been the good one, the nice, quiet boy no one could remember much about, except that he was nice and quiet, and now he was bound in the wooden stocks in the center of town, with everyone who used to say hello to him on the street avoiding his gaze as they walked by. He supposed that was really a good thing; he was too humiliated to have anyone acknowledge him at the moment. Or ever again, as far as he could see.

He was due to be set free in the morning, along with the pickpocket and the constantly sobbing adulteress, but he didn't know how he could continue to live in the village anymore--now the only thing anyone would remember about him was his shame, his transgression of the flesh, for which he had received five lashes and a day in the stocks.

Jochim, the little snake, had received no punishment at all, even though he was the one who started it, who teased him mercilessly when only a few inches of fence separated them from the crowd--he had stayed on his knees, begging and wailing for forgiveness, renouncing the demon that had afflicted him, and the minister had said he had been tormented enough. So Jochim had skipped off scot free; but _he_ had not, because he had not been of a sufficiently deceitful mindset or dramatic character and could not affect so dazzling a display of false regret.

The sting had finally gone out of the raw stripes adorning his back--they had become numb to the friction of the rough woolen tunic scraping across them--but they would leave scars, forever attesting to his misconduct. His knees and back and arms ached from kneeling in the stocks all day, and the night would be even longer and colder.

The psychological torture of it was surprisingly sharp for a people who claimed to love peace and piety; he swore he would go mad if he had to listen to the keening of the woman beside him any longer, and the thief on his other side twitched and coughed and cleared his throat without ever actually saying anything. A few people spit on one or another as they walked by, although being so coldly ignored by most was the worst part. Every few hours the magistrate's assistant was required to come by and give them some water, but there would be no food of course.

He wondered, though, if the stocks could possibly be any worse than what awaited him at home upon his release: his father couldn't even look at him during the whipping and would surely cast him out of the house in shame. Once his punishment was duly served, he was supposed to be welcomed back into the community as though nothing had happened, but he knew how infrequently that really occurred.

Maybe he would have to travel--leave the village, settle in one where no one had heard of him... Surely there were farmers who could use another pair of hands during the harvest season. His heart turned to ice at the thought of leaving the village where he had grown up--he had never been further away than a few miles--but he couldn't stay and face the disapproval in the eyes of everyone he met, especially in his own home.

[There’s some kind of raid on the village, and he’s captured and sold into slavery. Then, he’s bought by Duke Andreich of Kaskia, who names him Topaz.]

And then it was all over, the tingle rapidly fading from his body, leaving him panting for breath and exhausted. The warmth pulled away from him, and he was surprised that he missed it, but the Duke returned in a moment with a warm, wet rag and proceeded to gently wipe the moisture from Topaz's face and chest, whispering soothing words in his ear as he did so.

"That's it, shhhh, you did such a good job," he purred in his rough accent, pausing to nibble Topaz's earlobe. "Shhhh... the first time is always scary but it's over now..."

He reached up to the headboard and unlocked the handcuff holding Topaz's wrist, and the brunette cradled it against his chest protectively. Now that the hormones were starting to recede, his old aches and pains were coming back--along with new ones. All his muscles were sore from being tensed so long--he honestly didn't think he could even stand up.

Andreich reached over his shoulder and held Topaz's wrist up to the meager light from the lantern on the nightstand, frowning at the red patches on the pale skin. He wrapped the rag around his wrist for a moment and noticed a few rusty-red drops of blood on the cloth when he pulled it away; apparently the edge of the cuffs were sharper than he had expected--but then again the boy had yanked rather violently on it at one point.

Andreich tossed the rag on the floor of the tent and propped himself up on one arm to survey his companion in the lamplight. He skimmed his fingers along the younger man's slender arms and across his ribs, which were far too prominent for the Duke's liking. Once they returned to the castle he would make sure the boy was properly fed. He scooted closer, curling his arm over Topaz's side and nuzzling the back of his neck. The brunette sniffed a little bit but his body didn't tense up in fear.

"You liked it though, didn't you, Topaz?" Andreich whispered with a smile. "I know you did. Wait until you find out what else we can do..." He had a few ideas he wouldn't mind trying right now, but he suspected his new slave had already expended more energy than he really had fuel for. Even now his breathing was beginning to even out, which the Duke supposed was a good sign--he was at least relaxed enough to sleep.

"I should really send you back to your tent," he mused, running his fingers through the younger man's dark hair. Topaz made some sort of noise in response, whatever noise could be made with the least amount of effort--if the Duke wanted him moved, someone would have to carry him, because he was pretty sure his muscles had ceased to operate. His brain was starting to tumble along, distorting any of his attempts at thinking.

Andreich pulled the light woolen blanket up over their bodies and tucked it in around the boy; the closer they got to the Duke's country the colder the weather would turn. Andreich didn't mind, he liked the cold, but he would have to watch the new slaves carefully--he had lost some from warmer climates before when they couldn't adapt to the temperature change.

"You look sweet now," he continued idly, settling in behind the younger man, "but you might turn on me in the night." He smirked at the thought of the big-eyed brunette trying to attack him, but his words also warned the new slave that he was alert to just such a possibility. Topaz only mumbled something even less coherent in return; before Andreich could lay his head down, the new slave was fast asleep.

**

He was having one of those oh-so-vivid dreams again, where he could almost feel the hard planes of a man's body pressing against his back, slender fingers dancing over his skin, warm lips caressing his shoulder. For a moment he enjoyed it, then he began to panic--what if someone heard him, what if someone found out? He struggled to rise out of the dream, no matter how good it felt--no matter how much his body told him he needed to sleep--almost physically squirming to awaken himself. The reality that began to trickle back through his senses, however, made even less sense than the dream--no familiar lumps and musty odors from the straw-filled mattress, no rough homespun blankets scratching his skin, no smell of breakfast cooking on the fireplace but rather sweat and lamp oil and leather--

Andreich was glad he'd decided against nibbling the boy's earlobe, because he would have torn it clean off when Topaz jerked upright with a gasp. His breathing labored, the slave stared wildly around the room, clearly disoriented.

The Duke sat up beside him, wrapping his arm around the younger man's shoulders. "Calm down, little angel," he cajoled, rubbing his other hand against the brunette's bare chest. "You're alright, no one is going to hurt you." He smirked a little as he decided to qualify that statement a bit. "At the moment, anyway." The blond resumed nuzzling Topaz's neck--the boy tasted unlike anyone he'd ever known, sort of sweet and clean, even through a layer of sweat. "Lie back down."

The memories of the last few weeks--down to the last few days, the last few hours, which his mind had tried so carefully to tuck away while he slept--came rushing back to him like a blow to the stomach, and he sagged back down onto the soft mattress more than he relaxed. The short version seemed to be that his village had been destroyed, he had been sold into slavery and beaten, fondled, and half-starved by strangers, only to be bought by the most beautiful man he'd ever seen--who was now lying in bed beside him after a terrifying, amazing night of sensations he never even imagined before. And he had a new name--Topaz, after the fiery sparkles of golden light his new master claimed to see in his brown eyes. Turning his face to the pillows he groaned as his head began to pound and all the cuts, scrapes, bruises, and abused muscles he possessed made themselves known.

He heard the blond chuckle behind him. "A little sore, hmmm?" he asked with amusement, sliding a possessive hand across his hip. "Your body will get used to it. In time. I wouldn't recommend riding a horse for a while, though."

With some insistent tugging he rolled the slave over to face him and captured his swollen lips with his own, pleased to feel the beginnings of a favorable response this time. When he pulled back, however, the boy still wouldn't meet his gaze, keeping his eyes firmly downwards.

"What is so interesting down there, little angel?" Andreich teased, and he was rewarded with the slave's face turning a brilliant crimson. His liquid brown eyes immediately shot up, not meeting the Duke's but bouncing anywhere else from the far wall to the ceiling. Andreich caught his chin between his thumb and forefinger, focusing his attention across the few inches of pillow that separated their faces. "Topaz," he said firmly, and the brunette finally met his gaze. "You will learn to--"

The jangling of a bell nearby interrupted the Duke's speech and he rolled his eyes, swearing under his breath as he turned towards the entrance of the tent. "What do you want?" he snapped in his native tongue.

A pale-faced serving girl ducked under the tent flap and immediately snatched up the robe she had draped neatly over a chair the night before. The Duke sat up in the bed and slid his arms through the satiny sleeves, even as he demanded in confusion, "What is it? Why are you waking me up?"

"You have a--" she began in a low hiss, but she was interrupted by a shadow filling the entrance to the tent and the snide voice which belonged to it.

"I made the wench do it. I wanted to make sure you were still alive, after your wild night with a new slave."

The Duke slid out of bed, tightening the sash of the jet-black robe. "DeMarco," he sneered. "I wondered what that smell was."

The other man--tall, perhaps ten years older than the Duke, dressed expensively but conservatively--smiled thinly and strode casually into the tent, pretending to admire the furniture as though he had all the time in the world. Topaz pulled the blankets up over him as high as he could, trying to find a position that would keep both of the other men in sight without putting pressure on an injury.

"Yes, I was just over at Zarephath, buying some new slaves, when I heard that my old friend Andreich was camping nearby." DeMarco idly perused the stack of maps stretched out across the desk while Andreich crossed his arms over his chest and glared. "Coincidentally returning home from the same sort of errand. And I thought to myself that I simply must stop by to say hello."

"Hello," growled Andreich. "Good-bye."

Ignoring him DeMarco wandered over to the bed where Topaz watched him warily. The younger man couldn't understand the words being spoken, but from the tone it was pretty clear the Duke was not pleased to see his visitor. "This must be one of your new purchases right here, hmmm?" he asked rhetorically, with a cold smile that made Topaz shiver. He stretched out a gloved hand, but the slave scrambled backwards; the man's expression suddenly shifted to fury, his lips twisted in a snarl, and he began to reach again, more insistently.

"Don't you dare lay a hand on my property." DeMarco's gaze shifted up to Andreich, a momentary challenge, and Topaz swallowed hard, wishing he weren't trapped in between the two of them.

DeMarco smiled his cold, tight smile again and dropped his hand to his side, affecting a casual demeanor. "You don't have to worry about that with _me_ , Duke," he replied with some distaste, and Andreich bit the inside of his cheek to restrain a comment. "By the way," the visitor continued with a smirk, "have you been blessed with any heirs yet? I have seven at the moment--or is it eight? I can never remember..."

Andreich's eyes blazed. "Seven heirs? They'll all kill each other fighting over the scraps you call your estate."

"At least my time is spent more productively than in such... base pleasures," DeMarco spat, giving Topaz a withering glance.

"As if your partners receive any pleasure," Andreich replied acidly, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You have too much regard for your slaves," DeMarco insisted. "They exist for our pleasure, not their own."

"Say those who are _incapable_ of pleasuring others," the Duke returned.

DeMarco's face began to turn a different color with anger. "Male bedslaves. You don't even chain them," he hissed. "Someday one of them is going to slit your throat in the night."

The Duke sat down on the edge of the bed and leaned back against the headboard. "DeMarco," he said in a softer tone of voice, "you're so concerned about my safety... I'm touched. Really."

DeMarco's eyes widened, then narrowed as he glared at Andreich. He started to say several things, sputtered to a stop, and finally snarled, "Don't think I have forgotten the dishonor you brought on my house. That score will be settled--soon."

"I look forward to it," Andreich called after him as the visitor swept out of the tent.

The Duke waited a moment, fingers clenching angrily, then leaped off the bed and grabbed a cup off the table, flinging it against the wall. It bounced harmlessly off the oiled fabric, spilling its contents everywhere, and Andreich growled in frustration, running his fingers roughly through his hair and muttering to himself. After a moment he seemed to remember that he wasn't alone in the room and he turned back to Topaz, his residual glare making the younger man shrink back.

The Duke sighed and softened his gaze. He drifted forward until he was close enough to tip the slave's chin up with slender fingers. "Those angel eyes of yours are going to be my weakness, I think," he told him with a slight smile.

When he didn't say anything else for a moment, Topaz ventured timidly, "Who was that?"

He regretted it when the Duke spun away from him suddenly and snapped, "No one. Cledda!"

The serving girl appeared again through the tent flap. "Yes m'lord?" she answered, sounding just a touch saucy.

"What time is it?" he asked, yawning and dropping into a chair.

Cledda sighed loudly when she saw the cup tossed onto the floor and dropped to her knees to clean up the mess. "An hour past sunrise," she replied, slightly irritated.

"An _hour_?!" he exclaimed. "Didn't I tell you to start breaking camp at sunrise? I wanted to be at Knightsdale by dark!"

Cledda stood to wipe down the wall with a rag. "I _did_ start breaking camp at sunrise," she snapped. She slammed the cup back down on the table in front of Andreich, making both him and Topaz jump. "But you don't need to be up, watching people pack the horses. I was _trying_ to be _nice_."

The Duke seemed genuinely shocked. "Really?"

Cledda violently wiped off the trunk that had been under the cup when it hit the wall. "Really. The entire camp heard you up late last night with the boy"--she nodded at Topaz, who blushed even though he didn't know precisely what was being said about him--"and I thought I would let you sleep in."

"That's just... so unlike you, Cledda," Andreich told her, the awe still in his voice.

She glared at him over her shoulder. "Well don't worry, m'lord, I won't do it again," she assured him.

"No, that's very nice, I appreciate it," the Duke assured her as the servant began gathering loose items in the room together.

She merely snorted and snatched his discarded clothes off the floor, tossing them at him. The Duke dropped his robe and yanked the too-tight leather trousers on as Topaz tried but didn't succeed at averting his eyes. Cledda merely rolled hers and picked up the robe, folding it more neatly and packing it away in the trunk. "Breakfast?" she asked.

"I'll eat off the fire," he told her, sitting on the edge of the bed to put on his socks and boots. Sensing that it was time to get up, Topaz started to roll over, looking for the clothes he'd been wearing the last few weeks, when he hit a large bruise and hissed, drawing Andreich's attention.

"Bring a bath for the boy," he added, pulling his loose shirt over his head. He debated over his long, dark jacket he'd worn the night before. "What's the weather like?"

"Hot," Cledda replied shortly, thumping a stack of books into the trunk, "for Kaskians."

The Duke nodded and tossed the jacket across the table. "Pack that on my horse, then," he ordered, then turned to Topaz with a contemplative gaze. The slave was leaning out of the bed as far as he could while still staying mostly under the blankets, searching for his clothes under the bed. Andreich moved around to that side and crouched down until he could be at eye level to the awkwardly-positioned younger man.

"We're going to be leaving soon, little angel," he told him, pushing his dark hair out of his eyes. The boy looked at him with uncertainty. "Don't worry," Andreich assured him with a smile. "It is a long journey to my home, but that will give us time to get to know one another, won't it?"

Topaz started to reply--how, he wasn't sure, but he was definitely going to say _something_ \--when the bell outside the tent flap jangled again and a portly man nervously mangling his hat in his hands burst in. "M'lord!" he began excitedly, and the Duke rolled his eyes and stood. "The horses--I swear there were twenty-two last night, m'lord, and now--I've counted half a dozen times, and I think there are only twenty-one! I swear I did not take my eyes off the stable all night, my men were guarding it, but--"

"If you haven't slept all night," Andreich began crossly, "you probably can't see well enough to count right."

"Oh, but m'lord, I assure you--"

"Fine, let's go take a look at the horses." The Duke and the horse master left the tent on their errand, with Topaz still sitting in the bed naked and unsure of what he was supposed to be doing. Cledda showed no signs of leaving; in fact, she called another young woman in and the two of them began folding up the ingeniously jointed furniture and packing away every movable object they could find, completely ignoring the slave.

He grew increasingly uncomfortable, both with his vulnerable position and with the thoughts he suddenly had the leisure to contemplate. It was a strange feeling, to be owned--to look at someone and know that your entire life, your future, your very existence, depended on their kindness, their moods. The Duke had seemed... different somehow from the other buyers wandering around the slave yards--he hadn't grabbed Topaz and fondled him roughly, treated him like a piece of property, been cold and uncaring towards him.

But yet, he seemed to have no intention of giving his new slave a chance to leave, of asking him what _he_ wanted to do--he bought him, he brought him to his tent, and he used him the way he wanted to... although Topaz didn't recall protesting too much. And now it appeared that he was being transported to the Duke's homeland, wherever that was, however long it took to get there. Topaz didn't speak the native language of the Duke and his servants; he knew only what the Duke told him in the trade dialect, and so far he had not told him much.

Like what he was supposed to be doing right now, for instance. The woman in charge was directing her fellow servant in the packing and also ordering various men in and out of the tent carting trunks and furniture; any moment now they would surely be stripping the bed. Topaz squirmed on the bed, trying to draw attention to himself but too scared to try very hard. The women ignored him. He coughed a little bit and looked up hopefully, trying to catch their eyes. They barely even glanced in his direction. Topaz sighed and laid back down. Maybe the Duke wasn't done with him yet. He closed his eyes tightly for a moment, hoping that wasn't the case--his body was screaming at him for sleep, food, and time to heal its injuries.

A splashing sound shook the brunette back into wakefulness and he opened his eyes. One of the servants was lugging a large metal basin into the room, followed by other servants with steaming kettles of water to pour into it.

He felt vaguely absurd, sitting naked in the luxurious bed while servants carted the rest of the furniture out and packed up the smaller items. He was embarrassed, of course, at his current vulnerable position, and also at the fact that everyone else would _know_ exactly what he’d been doing the night before (though hardly anyone even gave him a second glance). And he was confused, because no one but the Duke seemed to speak a word he could understand and he didn’t know what he was supposed to be doing.

Of course, he also didn’t know where they were all headed, or what exactly his function as “slave” to the Duke was (although after last night he had _some_ idea of what was included). Most disturbingly, he wasn’t certain how he _felt_ about everything that had happened in the last two weeks. He _could_ go back to what remained of his village—he could find it somehow, if he could just get his bearings, and the last he saw it hadn’t been utterly destroyed.

But what kind of life awaited him there? He would spend his life as a woodcutter, because his father was a woodcutter and his grandfather was a woodcutter, and when he was finally married to his intended-since-birth (whom he thought of as a sister), his sons would be woodcutters as well. And he would always be plagued by those thoughts and feelings that had gotten him into trouble on that final day—when he was younger he had hoped he would grow out of them, but now he didn’t think that was possible. And that would be his life—trapped in the same village, in the same job, in the same marriage for the rest of his life, like his father and grandfather before him.

Yet until so recently he hadn’t even imagined there were any other possibilities. Now he was on entirely unfamiliar ground—slave to the Duke of a country he had never heard of? Subject to the passions of said (extremely attractive) Duke (which could be either good _or_ very bad)? Traveling to distant lands, meeting new people, performing new duties—but _owned_ by another human being as surely as his father had owned pigs and chickens, and completely ruled by his master, to be cherished, worked, or punished as he saw fit.

The Duke had not been so bad yet, really—he had talked _to_ him, not _above_ him; he had given him food and shelter and not beaten him so far. And if the Duke was somewhat... persistent sometimes, well... he hadn’t really put up a fight, and ultimately it _was_ a rewarding experience... Topaz wasn’t quite certain about that last reasoning, but then again he wasn’t quite certain about _anything_ anymore. So he just sat quietly on the bed, trying to keep himself modestly covered in blankets and waiting for a sign of what to do.

The wooden dining table and matching chairs were folded up and carted out the tent flap by two young men—who were passed by a couple of women lugging more water _in_. Their procession continued until the tent was nearly empty except for the basin three-quarters full of water. Someone was planning on taking a bath, apparently—perhaps the Duke?

The woman who appeared to be in charge of the servants caught Topaz’s eye and patted the edge of the basin. He raised his dark eyebrows—she wanted _him_ to take a bath? After the scrubbing he’d just had the night before? Without thinking he glanced around at the other servants in the room—he couldn’t bathe with everyone else there, either. When he glanced back at her she was tapping her foot impatiently and giving him the same look she’d given the Duke earlier. But there was just no way he was climbing out of bed and into that tub with everyone watching—his face reddened just _thinking_ about it.

For a moment he thought she was going to come over and rip the blankets off him, but then one of the other servants tipped over a pile of books and she went to chastise him. Topaz let out a silent sigh of relief and tried to curl back up in the bed—maybe if she didn’t _see_ him right away she wouldn’t bother him. He was just starting to get comfortable when he heard the Duke’s voice in the tent again, obviously upset about something.

“That horse master is an idiot!” Andreich ranted as he tried to pace the tent without being run over by furniture movers. “I would make him goat master but the goats are smarter than he is! Do you know what happened to that horse he claimed was missing?”

He had meant the question to be rhetorical, but of course Cledda had an answer. “Was that the horse young Rubel took to chase down the herald and give him the letters he forgot?” she suggested innocently, folding clothes near one of the trunks.

The Duke stopped pacing and stared at her a moment. “Why didn’t you say that earlier?!” he demanded, hands on his hips.

“Oh, I wasn’t sure, Your Grace,” she replied smoothly. “Shall I leave your jacket out or pack it, milord?”

“I’ll wear the short one,” he grumbled, defeated, as he tucked his shirt into the leather trousers that were almost too tight for it. Cledda held out a deep blue jacket cut to barely reach his waist, which he carelessly yanked on. The weather here was still too warm for his comfort, he decided.

Andreich was about to wander back outside when the lump in the bed caught his eye and his temper flared again. “Hey! You think you just get to sleep all day?” he asked in the dialect that had worked before, poking at the lump. The boy peeked balefully over the edge of the blankets. “Come on, get up! Get in the tub!” Andreich whirled around. “Didn’t I say to put him in the bath?” he shouted at Cledda, who rolled her eyes with her back to him. “Didn’t I _just_ say that?”

“He’s shy,” she offered, packing the contents of a desk drawer carefully into a box.

“Shy?!” the Duke repeated at the top of his lungs. “He doesn’t get to be _shy_!” Jerking the covers out of the terrified boy’s grip he pointed to the tub of water and yelled, “ _Get in there now!_ ” Before he had even completed the sentence his new slave had practically jumped headfirst into the basin.

“Did anyone feed him?” Andreich continued, still working off his temper. “ _One_ bowl of porridge, nothing else, understand? Don’t just stand there! Move!” Velga, one of the other servant girls, finally dashed off to fetch some breakfast—after receiving a nod from Cledda, of course.

“You’re scaring him,” she told the Duke evenly as she continued cleaning off his desk.

Andreich stared at her incredulously. “I’m _scaring_ him?!” He turned a glare on the boy, who had shrunk back in the tub as far as he could. “Am I _scaring_ you, sweetheart?” he asked sarcastically, but his stalking approach to the basin was interrupted when he stumbled over something on the floor.

“What the—?” He kicked it out from under the bed, discovering it to be the rags of clothing the boy had been wearing the day before. Andreich wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Find him something else to wear!” he added, picking up the cloth with two fingers and holding it at arm’s-length. “This is getting burned! I don’t know _what_ kind of insect infestations I’m exposing myself to here…”

The Duke was still muttering to himself as he marched out the door to toss the scraps on the nearest fire, but Cledda could see that his fit was nearly over. The early visit from DeMarco had upset her master more than he would ever admit, and then the false alarm with the horses hadn’t helped. Cledda and the others were used to the Duke’s outbursts by now—they didn’t last very long and usually weren’t violent, which made him much better that many other temperamental men. Usually it was only the new chambermaids who burst into tears when he started yelling, but even they quickly became used to it.

Of course, now there was the boy to consider—who probably hadn’t understood most of what his new master had even been saying. He certainly appeared frightened enough, sitting glumly in the tub as still as a mouse, and her heart went out to him. She had been like him once, long ago, when she had been taken from her native land as a child and placed on the slave market. She understood exactly how he felt.

Crying would be just about the most humiliating ending to this whole incident that he could possibly imagine, which was why he wasn’t going to do it. Absolutely not. He took back all the good points he’d conceded to the Duke and desperately wished he was back home in his village, chopping wood and thinking up reasons to delay his wedding. He had no idea what was going on, except that he was sitting in a tub of rapidly cooling water after the Duke had pitched a fit about _something_ —and burned his clothes, too, it seemed.

Topaz felt a presence near him and jerked around to see the servant woman standing behind him, a half-smile on her face. She patted his head reassuringly and said something in a soothing tone, which helped a little. Crouching down beside the tub—which made him just a little uncomfortable, considering his state of undress—she handed him a sliver of soap, then nodded towards the tent flap that had been pinned open. The Duke wandered aimlessly around a fire about thirty feet away, his anger gone and replaced by something calmer. She spoke again—about the Duke, presumably—then tapped her chest. “Cledda,” she introduced herself.

“Topaz,” he replied tentatively, and she smiled. Then there was a crash from the other side of the tent and she immediately morphed back into command mode, stomping off to give orders.

As he soaped up, Topaz continued to watch the Duke through the tent flap. At least three different people interrupted his reverie by the fire, but he yelled at none of them, just pointed them in the right direction as the controlled chaos of a large decamping swirled around him. People _did_ have mood swings, Topaz supposed cautiously, and as long as he didn’t start hitting people—

The Duke turned back towards his tent with confidence, even very graciously taking a bowl from a passing servant girl and bringing it inside with him. Topaz still eyed him warily as he knelt beside the tub with a slightly sheepish smile.

“Hello,” he began.

“Hello,” Topaz replied.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you, angel,” the Duke assured him, brushing a damp strand of hair off his forehead. “I lose my temper sometimes. It doesn’t mean anything.” He glanced over his shoulder at Cledda, who was folding up the bedclothes. “You see? It doesn’t even scare Cledda anymore.”

He had a dazzling smile, a full-tooth grin so much more unguarded and boyish than the rest of his demeanor, and Topaz found himself smiling shyly in return. “I wanted you to soak in the hot water for a while,” the Duke continued, dabbling his fingers in the tub near Topaz’s thigh, “but it’s getting cold already. You’ll have to wait until we make camp tonight, I guess.”

For a moment he just stared into the boy’s angelic golden-brown eyes, the eyes that had first drawn him through the crowded slave market. Eyes that could inspire poetry, he decided. Not to mention more earthly activities.

“I almost forgot,” he went on, picking up the bowl. “Your breakfast.”

Topaz stared dubiously at the gritty, whitish-grey concoction presented. Poking it with the provided spoon, he determined that it was at least thicker than the watery gruel provided by the slavers, but that might not be a good thing.

“Oh, come on,” the Duke coaxed. “It’s good for you. It’s delicious. See?” He took a spoonful of it himself and immediately wrinkled up his nose, which Topaz chuckled a little at. “Okay,” he admitted, swallowing it hard, “so it’s not exactly a delicacy. But that’s all you’re getting for a while, until your body gets used to _not_ being starved.”

Topaz nodded, deciding any food was better than none. The growling of his stomach had been ignored for so long that it had almost stopped bothering, but it hurried back to life as soon as he swallowed the first spoonful of porridge. After that he couldn’t shove it into his mouth fast enough, causing the Duke to chuckle.

“Slow down there, angel,” he suggested, taking Topaz’s wrist to prevent the spoon from reaching his mouth. Gently he turned the boy’s arm over, examining the scabbed-over scratches on his wrist made by the metal handcuff the night before. Andreich bit his lip as he stared at them, weighing his options. His fingers tightened around the boy’s arm, but he kept his tone light. “If you behave yourself,” he told Topaz, “I won’t chain you anymore.” He dropped the boy’s arm and let his fingers dangle in the soapy water, lightly brushing Topaz’s thigh. The slave shifted uncomfortably as he tried to continue eating. “But if you do _anything_ that makes me suspicious,” the Duke continued, grabbing the boy’s leg firmly, “then I will have you chained, hands and feet, for the rest of the trip. And it’s a _very_ long trip. Do you understand me?”

Topaz squirmed under the Duke’s grip and nodded quickly. He wasn’t exactly the adventurous, daring sort anyway… although if the Duke was treating him badly, he might just make an escape attempt if he saw the opportunity, threat or no threat.

Andreich smiled and started to stand. “Good. Hurry up now, we need to be leaving soon.” He began to turn away when Topaz made a noise, a frantic little attention-getting sound, and Andreich glanced back at him. “Yes?”

“Um…” he began uncertainly, “what should I wear?”

Andreich sighed; he’d forgotten about that. Well, he’d been planning on getting the boy new clothes anyway. Maybe someone had something extra they hadn’t yet packed up. “Cled—“ Before he even finished calling for her the girl stood in front of him, holding out an armful of clothing and giving him that _look_ of hers. She’d probably just been _waiting_ for him to ask. “Thank you, Cledda,” the Duke replied a bit sarcastically. The girl’s curtsy in return was equal sardonic.

Andreich held the clothes up for the boy to see, even as he looked them over himself. Trousers, shirt, jacket—a good, sturdy one for when the country turned cold—socks, and boots. All a slave could ask for. “Alright, here you go,” the Duke answered, stacking the clothes beside the tub. “Done eating? Good. Hop out, I want to look at you.”

Topaz froze, gripping the sides of the basin. “What?”

Andreich’s look turned predatory. “That should be, ‘What, _Master_ ,’” he corrected with a wicked grin. “And I think the command should be easy enough to follow.”

The boy hesitated, glancing nervously at the servants now disassembling the bed as he desperately tried to avoid complying with the order. The Duke noticed his gaze and shouted, “Cledda!” The servant woman sighed loudly, abruptly dropped the pile of blankets she carried, and herded everyone out of the tent.

“We’re leaving _soon_ ,” she reminded Andreich pointedly, jerking the tent flaps shut behind her.

The Duke turned to Topaz with a smug expression, waiting. The boy swallowed hard, willing himself to stand. The tub was small and cramped, the water was getting cold—and Andreich had seen everything the night before, hadn’t he?

“Come on, angel, don’t be shy,” the Duke coaxed, offering his hand. Closing his eyes, Topaz took it and pulled himself to his feet, dripping water back into the tub.

Andreich smirked a bit at the blush spreading across the boy’s body as he admired him. He was shy, it was cute. The Duke ran his hand over the boy’s arm, feeling the muscles jerk as he circled him. “Hmmm…” Andreich squeezed his back and shoulder lightly; he needed more food, certainly, but there was strength there. “Were you some kind of… laborer?” he guessed.

“Woodcutter,” Topaz answered, his throat dry as the Duke continued to pet him.

“Very nice.” Topaz wasn’t certain if he was commenting on the profession, or on things generally.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Added more text to Chapter 1

Added more text to Chapter 1.


End file.
